


Sticks & Stones

by theimpossibleimpala



Category: Doctor Who (Mentioned), Supernatural, Superwood - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: 2014, A very light amount of Destiel, Angst, Arguements, Boyfriend Dean/Cas, Doctor Who (referenced) - Freeform, Gore, Gross Corpse, Halloween, Haunted House, Holiday, Horror, Intense, M/M, Mystery, Portland Oregon, Rain, Short Story, Spooky, Storm - Freeform, Suspense, Teleportation, Time Travel, Weeping Angels - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5136794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimpossibleimpala/pseuds/theimpossibleimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a dark and stormy October 31st... </p><p>The Williamsburg Estate has had people dissapear within it's doors for the past several decades – meeting an untimely end. Or have they?</p><p>Sam and Dean Winchester butt-heads with a strange man in a blue trench coat by the name of Captain Jack. Begrudgingly, the three work together to solve the mystery of the haunted house with assistance from Castiel. What's lurking in the shadows?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticks & Stones

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! This is my contribution to the Halloween spirit in these fandoms. I hope this is spoopy enough for y'all. 
> 
> Also, I apologise that the things that are meant to be italicised are not :-/ I don't have a computer which means I can't do that unless I want to spend hours re-editing my story. 
> 
> Warnings for a rather disturbing corpse (towards the beginning), language, and brief suggestive dialogue. 
> 
> 11/2/15

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The man in the long, blue trench coat was watching them, he had this weird expression on his face, like they were a painting he couldn't quite put together the meaning to. He was about Dean's height, with black hair and blue eyes, very similar to Castiel's. He was different, though, very different. 

He hadn't so much as looked at the body lying on the pavement (though neither had the Winchesters) in the center of the Rosa Parks and Interstate intersection since he'd been here, just watched the brothers conduct their usual scouting of the premises and interrogating of the authorities. 

"Hey, Sam, you see that guy over there?"

"What guy?"

"By the coffee stand. Blue coat. Look without looking."

Sam turned his head to look behind them in a very obvious fashion. 

"Dude! I said look /without/ looking."

"That's awfully difficult."

"You know what I mean."

Sam peered behind them a little more discreetly this time, his brow furrowing instantly, "How long has he been here?"

"I don't know, I just looked over and he was staring at us. Think he knows somethin'?"

"He could. Should we go talk to him?"

"Yeah..." Dean considered the option, "Friggin' peeping Tom. The hell is lookin' at?"

Then accidentally eye-contact occurred. Dean sucked in a breath, "Shit, man. He saw me watchin'."

"What happened to 'looking without looking'?" Sam commented smartly, not seeming to care. 

"Crap, he's coming over here."

And he was. He walked with long strides, black shoes on his feet with smooth dark pants peeking out beneath his buttoned coat. The day was chilly, it had been raining the past several days, and was just now clearing up. An unpleasant smell of grease was wafting past the yellow police tape from the gas station, but was counteracted by the two coffee places roasting their own beans. That didn't smell too great either, to be honest, more like burnt toast than anything.

"Get out your badge." Dean suggested nervously, slipping his own out of his inside pocket of his blazer. Today he wore his long, brown jacket to keep the cold at bay. What was with all the trenches? Even Sam had on his black, wool one he'd bought a few years back up in Maine when they'd been dealing with some nasty vamps. If Cas were here, they'd all four be wearing practically the same thing. 

The guy was within a few meters now, his shoes clicking threateningly on the road, his facial expression unreadable but stern. Before Sam or Dean could even start introducing themselves, the man had /his/ badge out, flashing it in front of their noses. /Jerk/, Dean thought automatically, then cringed inwardly because that was what Sam was supposed to say. 

"Captain Jack Harkness, FBI, Special Ops. Who the hell are you two?"

Sam shared an anxious glance with Dean and then offered his own badge, "Agent Spengler, and this is my partner Agent Venkman."

Captain Harkness lifted an eyebrow, "Interesting names. Coulda sworn i heard them somewhere before..."

Sam feigned amusement, and Dean shrugged. They were using the names of the characters in a popular Bill Murray 80's movie. It was all in the spirit of Halloween (pun intended). 

"Maybe, wouldn't think you'd find very many Venkman's in the phone book though." Dean said. 

Jack seemed caught between frowning and smiling, "No, no you wouldn't. Besides, the yellow pages are crap. No one uses them anyway." 

"That, I can agree with." The Winchester pointed at him to show his enthusiasm. 

"So, let's not beat around the bush boys, you say you're FBI, I say you're not. I know a fake badge a mile away. However," He quirked his mouth, surprising the brothers who thought they were gonna have to make a break for it, "I'm not very fond of putting two reputable young men behind bars. Who are you guys?"

Sam looked at his brother to have a silent conversation, but the shorter man was already speaking, "Ghostbusters."

Jack laughed, "That's what I thought those names were from. You're very cocky giving away your bullshit so soon, didn't wanna hang onto the cover a bit longer?"

"Thought we should get straight down to the sheets on this one." 

"I like your spunk."

Dean grimaced at the compliment, "Awesome. Well, could you get on with whatever you plan on doing with us please 'cus I really don't have time for this."

"Don't wanna miss playing dress-up tonight? Little old for that aren't you?" Harkness was grinning broadly, clearly enjoying the banter, and flirting too? Sam cleared his throat. 

"Listen, guys, as much as I hate to interrupt your little Cyrano and Roxane moment here, I think we need to check out the body, and then we'll figure out what happens next."

"Ooo you must be the poetic dom in the bedroom, huh?" Jack teased Sam's seriousness. 

"What?" Sam asked, momentarily distracted, "No – /no/. They're gonna take the body soon for an autopsy. I wanna see it before they slice it open or move it."

"Fine," The Captain agreed, gesturing towards the cloth-covered corpse, "Lead the way."

A number of policeman and a forensics unit were crowded around, having conversations or speaking into walkie talkies. Three cop cars walled in the body so as to keep it hidden from the prying eyes of the public who were lined up along the yellow tape. The audience was whispering and straining their necks, a few tried to get information from an officer, but none got more than a couple a firm words. If they all stood around this intersection much longer, they'd get run over by the electric Max train that came every 30 or so minutes. Traffic had already been backed up for a while now, cars were honking and seeking detours around the closed off area. It was midday, and a person had apparently ended up in the street, dead, but not hit by a car. The corpse was supposed to be gruesome, according to the coroner's report. 

It was. 

And worse than could possibly be imagined. 

Sam lifted up the cloth, groaning at the sight. The head itself was intact, which was relief, none of them wanted to see any brains today. The eyes lacked lids, however, as though they'd been ripped from the body. Bloody flaps of skin hung around the eye sockets, and the eyeballs had been turned into egg salad. They were mashed up into chunky clumps, a thick white liquid and blood filled the sockets like juice in a cup, a few streaks of it traveling down the face and into the woman's hair. Her mouth was in rough shape too. Her lips were gone – dark purple, bruised and blood-coated skin surrounded it. Her teeth were all half pulled out, the roots of them exposed to the outside, her gums a putrid shade of maroon leaking black. If that was disturbing, then what had occurred to the arms and legs was a blessing to look at. They were stone. Pure, solid grey stone. Sam attempted to shift an arm, and actually had to strain to move it. The limb had a mass seemingly impossible for its size, same went for the legs. 

"What happened to them?" Sam muttered, not really expecting an answer. 

Jack crouched down, pushing the flaps of his coat out of harm's way, focused on something. He lifted the lady's head, her mouse-brown dreadlocks hanging down. He shifted her face left and right, causing a small but puke-worthy amount of the eye-mush and blood to shift in the sockets. He ran a finger over her small chin, then rubbed the pads of his fingers together. "Sand." He stated. 

"Sand?" Dean queried, avoiding looking  
at the corpse. 

"Just a little bit."

"What does that mean?" Sam interjected. 

"I don't know."

That's when Dean realised this guy was completely unphased by the entirely scientifically impossible occurrence of the body. He seem unbothered by how there was no obvious explanation, entirely indifferent to the supernatural element clearly at play. 

"What kind of Special Ops are you?" Dean accidentally blurted out. 

Captain Harkness nearly smiled, "A /very/ special kind."

Dean couldn't help but get the feeling this guy was hiding something, like he knew more than he was letting on. He didn't seem to care all that much that Sam and Dean had done something entirely illegal, he was /indifferent/ to it. Like it was familiar. 

"Why do I get the feeling you're not FBI either?" Dean questioned with more confidence than he should have. 

Jack carefully wiped his hands on his pants, avoiding his coat at all costs. He gave Dean a level stare, shifting to look at Sam as well, "I'm better than that. Outside the government, beyond the police. I call myself a freelancer, I used to have... Partners. But it's just me now."

"What happened to them?" Sam said gently, suspecting the answer. The captains composure was that of a man who's seen war, had unspeakable losses, and had a life full of /almosts-but-not-quites/.

"They moved to Bermuda," Jack joked, his stance changed, and he clapped his hands together, smiling, "Well boys, we gonna work together or keep playing peek-a-boo?"

The Winchesters stayed quiet. It was impossible to tell if this guy was trustworthy or not, but he did seem to be a hunter, and – who knew? He could be helpful in the long run. Or, he could stab them in the back. There were risks no matter what. 

"What you think, Sam?"

Sam grimaced, then murmured, "/Cristo/."

Jack's eyes stayed blue, and he didn't react in the slightest. He was fiddling with something on his wrist, some sort of… watch? He paused what he was doing, considered something, and then closed the cover of his watch, "How'd you guys know about the stone body?"

"Uh, the news?" Sam replied, recalling the message over the police scanner from 15 minutes ago. 

"Hm. Do you – are you two – friends? Brothers? Up for a three-some?"

"/God/, no," Dean made a grossed out face, "/Brothers/, for Christ's sake. /Brothers/." He shot Sam an exasperated look, to which Sam shrugged.

"I'm going back to my car," Jack announced, starting to turn away, "I'm room 213 at the Viking Motel, come see me if you want. Either way, I'm working the case whether we do it together or not and I guarantee I can kick your asses to hell and back, so let's not butt heads here, alright?"

"Fair enough." Dean said. 

"Toodles."

Harkness left, stepping over the yellow tape and smirking at an officer. He hadn't even conducted any interviews, what was his deal?

"Really man?" Sam chastised once Jack was out of earshot, "You gave away all our crap like it was nothing."

"Well it /is/ crap."

"Yeah but we could've gotten arrested."

"The dude's a hunter," Dean waved it off, strutting towards the impala after thanking the head detective of the PD. 

"We don't know that." Sam complained. 

"Did you see him? Were you /listening/? He's just like us, except even /more/ alone."

"Okay, yeah he's lost people, hell Dean, everyone has, but that doesn't mean anything. He was lying just as much as we were to those cops."

"I don't think he was lying."

"Then what was he doing? '/Avoiding certain truths in order to manipulate us/'? 'Cus that was it felt like."

Dean opened the door to his baby, "We'll be fine, Sam. If worse comes to worst we can lock him down."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Jerk."

Dean tried really hard not to respond, but broke after two seconds of agonising silence, "Bitch."

They can't find a motel anywhere. They drive around for about 45 minutes until they circle back to the Viking Motel. They hadn't wanted to be in the same place as Jack, but they'd run out of options. Sam looked up what he could about the woman, from the car, stealing a half-decent wifi connection from the parking lot. Nothing weird showed up. Then he researched the intersection and police records for any strange happenings in the area. 

"Dean – so get this."

"Yo? Shoot." He said, tapping on the steering wheel and fumbling with what little cash they had to see if they had enough for tonight. 

"The Williamsburg Estate, built in 1899, currently unoccupied. In the past century, more than two dozen people have been said to have vanished inside. Five people for sure went missing in the 1950's when people were still living there, soon after it emptied out and hasn't been bought again. In 1989 they were going to tear it down but it was deemed a historical building, a couple of real estate companies have tried to renovate the place, but the plans have all gone horribly awry."

"Three people who worked on the most recent project in 2005 disappeared, and two more in 1994. There's been reports of screams, figures, and other disturbances inside the household regularly for the past decade."

Dean nods a along with the facts, "Where does stone-girl come into play?"

"Well, the place was well known for its statute garden, and apparently inside there's a lot of artwork and sculptures because the last residents were collectors."

"No one ever cleaned it out?"

"They tried."

"Oh." Dean sipped his beer, he ran his fingers over his scruffy chin, "We gonna check it out?"

"Might as well while we're here. It's been marked as unstable by the Oregon Department of Structural Safety, but it's not blocked off or anything."

"Not like if it was we'd stay out though, right?"

Sam smiled at that, "Probably not."

"Ain't that right baby?" Dean patted the dashboard of the car, "Nothing can keep us out."

They unloaded the impala, getting their bags and a few books. They suspected there was a cursed object somewhere inside, probably one of the few hundred art pieces. They got a room, 207, and gathered up some food, beers and comfortable positions on their beds. As it turned out, there were about a thousand different theories on hauntings in the house, some said the people who'd gone astray had been murdered, which quite frankly was most likely the case based on the corpse today, but the real question was... What had done it? The intersection with the body had been about three blocks from the house, maybe the woman had tried to escape but died before she made it away? If there was a cursed object, had she just touched it? Used it? /Taken/ it?

The cops hadn't found anything in the pockets, only her wallet, which only gave away her name and that she went to college nearby. Maybe she'd gone to the house for a specific reason... Had she been doing it for school? Had she been digging around in neighbourhood history and taken interest in the manor?

"Hey Sammy, I think we should figure out if the chick had actually been in the place. Talk to her friends.... That sorta thing."

Sam looked from his computer, "Yeah. Yeah, okay. It's early, wanna go now?"

They left quickly, after changing back into their Fed-Threads. They went to the woman's dorm room, and their roommate let them in to look around. They didn't find much, but the address of the Williamsburg Estate was pinned to a cork board, with a note that read: /haunted/? There was every chance in the world the foolish girl was just curious about the old place. When was it /ever/ a good idea to go into creepy, old houses? And alone, too?

“Dean, look at this.” Sam held up a piece of notebook paper. A few names were scribbled onto it, beside them, some dates. 

Allen Ford: 2005-1962  
Margaret Watson: 2005-1943  
George Herman: 2009-1878  
Lisa Shriver: 2011-1902  
Michael Brown: 2013-1936

“I don't get it, it looks like when people were born and died, but that Herman bloke would've had to a been like, 130 years old.” Dean said, confused. 

“Yeah,” Sam ran a finger along the first numbers, “And they're backwards. You're supposed to /start/ with birth and end with death. Why're they this way?”

“Don't British people right it backwards?” Dean suggested. 

“They write the date weird and add in a bunch of ‘u’s in words, they don't do this,” Corrected Sam. 

“Who are these people anyway?”

“Just a second,” Sam’s face fell with a realisation, “Oh god.”

“What?” Inquired Dean, nervous.

“These are some of the people who vanished in that house. Their cars were left out front or someone saw them go in… A couple were realtor agents. I haven't seen this last one though.” He frowned, moving around some other papers on the desk. 

“Michael Brown? That was last year, 2013, is this when he went missing then?”

“That's what the other dates are – the like, 2005 ones.”

“Right. Okay, but what happened in these other years? What do they have to do with these people?” Dean spotted a laptop on a table, and lifted the top up, logging onto it as a guest. He easily found the missing person's report on Brown, making sure to check for a picture. Then he went back in Portland’s city records to 1936. 

Stuff comes up about the electric company, and about trains and the population and economy. After 20 minutes of squinting at the small screen while Sam shuffled through notebooks and papers, Dean got what he wanted. The newspapers. He had a whole year to search through, and some of them had either been lost entirely or just weren't online, but he could do this. He found the headline, saw the photo, and sat back, open-mouthed. 

“Well, /shit/.”

Sam turned around, concerned, “What?”

“I found our pal Michael, in /1936/.”

“What do you mean?” Sam came up behind his brother, bending down to see the pictures next to each other. The old black and white photo was small and smudged, but the name in the two-paragraph article provided enough evidence. 

“‘On Thursday of last week a man by the name of Michael Brown stumbled into our town. He had on odd dress, and had possession of several strange objects. One of these included and flat, metal, and glass device. It was confiscated by the Federal Bureau of Investigations, and the man was put into the Stumptown Psych Ward after assaulting an officer and screaming at dozens of passersby, claiming some sort of cruel joke had been played on him’.” Sam read aloud, clearing his throat afterwards, “Do you think.. I mean it sounds nuts, but…he got sent back in time?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed. 

The doorbell rang, and they both jumped. They strained their ears, there was some murmuring, a nervous giggle from the roommate, and then the clacking of shoes on wood. Two sets of shoes. A hand pushed the door open slowly, and the edges of a blue trenchcoat shifted into view. 

“Jack?”

“Hey guys. Thought you'd be here.”

Dean scowled, “Is this butting heads? The hell are you doin’ here?”

“Same as you,” Harkness said curtly, “/Investigating/.”

Dean scoffed, checked the roomie was gone, and argued, “You didn't even interview the cops, I don't think you're taking this seriously.”

“/I'm/ not taking this seriously? Excuse me, but who was it that rolled up and used names from the goddamn Ghostbusters movie?” Jack didn't seem defensive, but more like he enjoyed winning fights, “I didn't need to deal with those bastard police anyways.”

“Okay, you know what –” Dean started, his anger growing, he pulled his pistol out and pointed it at Jack, “Drop the fucking act. Who are you?”

Sam was taken aback more than the Captain. He'd thought Dean was gonna greet the man with welcome arms, but apparently not. Harkness had the audacity to shrug, “Who are any of us?”

Dean tilted his head, pissed off, “Don't joke with me. I'm really not in the mood.”

“You know I used to have a boyfriend like you, part cyborg I think, he was all beeps no roll. You're all talk no action. You can't threaten me, Dean. It doesn't work.”

“Yeah? We’ll see about that.” A shot rang loudly in the room, a bullet hole in the wall to Jack’s right. 

“No wonder he left you behind,” The man muttered, “You're just like me.”

A shriek comes from the hallway, “/What happened/!?!” It's the girl. Dean gestured at Sam to take care of it, who nodded and got up, giving his brother a look that said /don't kill Jack unless you have to/.

“What do you mean I'm like you? And who's ‘he’?” Dean carried on. 

“You're wild. Unpracticed, immature... desperate.” He added as an afterthought. 

“And the other question?”

“You know the answer to that one,” Jack said accusingly. 

“Actually I don't, there's about three billion ‘he's’ in the world I need little more detail to go on than that.”

Harkness visibly shrank, his confident front dropping, “You really don't know do you?”

“Know what?”

“You're not, you weren't… Bad wolf?”

“Bad wolf?” Dean repeats, not understanding. 

“Tardis? Sonic? Medusa Cascade? Anything?” Jack listed anxiously. 

“What? Stop with that bull crap.” 

“I don't get it. You /had/ to be.” Jack made to pull something from a pocket. 

“Hey! Hands where I can see them!” Dean growled, stepping closer. 

The other sighed, “Could you get it for me then? I need to show you something.”

Dean was so not about to go into punching distance of this guy, “Throw the coat.”

“Be careful with it,” Jacked warned, “Or else.”

“You're the one at gunpoint,” Dean reminded him, taking the jacket. He glanced down for half a second, to find the pocket Jack had wanted. When he looked back up, the barrel of a World War II Webley revolver was staring right back at him, Dean's own pistol had drooped a bit in stance, and Jack easily elbowed his wrist, sending the gun flying off into a corner. There wasn't much Dean could do besides pray he didn't get shot. 

“Listen up, you little bastard, something's going on here and you two have all sorts of strange readings. You got time-vortex particles all over you, some weird shit on your ribs, and a trunk full of guns and Satanic symbols. If I didn't know better I'd say you and your brother were aliens,” Jack had lost all of his cheerful demeanour, and was speaking in a tense, forceful tone that was rising in volume, “Right now the only thing you got going for you is that you fell for my psychic paper, and that's not much, ‘cus all that tells me is that you two are a couple of gullible dimwits.”

Out of everything Jack had said, Dean couldn't help but get caught on one word, “/Aliens/? You mean like, /foreigners/?”

“Real funny, no I don't mean /foreigners/.”

Dean's eyes widened, “You're fucking insane, man, there's no such thing as aliens. Monsters? Yes. Angels? Yea. Demons? For sure. But, /aliens/, you're way off the reservation with that one, dude.”

“You think I'm fucking around right now?” Jack pushed the barrel right up against Dean's forehead, the hunter stuck out his chin and glared, “This isn't a game. I will shoot you, if you – /don't start talking/!”

Jack shouted the last part, and Dean was starting to seriously wonder where the hell Sam was, “Fine. Back off a little and I'll answer your goddamn questions!”

Harkness, not trusting him, squinted and gave a cold grin, “Okay. Okay, I admit, I was a little hasty,” He jabbed Dean one last time in the head, “But you move one inch towards your gun and your hand comes off.”

“Who says it's not yours that'll come detached?”

Jack smirked, “It can go in a jar next to my friends.” Then he inched back, revolver still cocked to fire at an instant’s notice, “So, you and Chewy find anything here?”

Dean glowered, not taking his gaze off the man, and reached down to pick up the paper with the names, “Here.”

Jack tore it from his grip quickly, and moved backwards a few feet to be out of range of an attacking Dean. He lowered his gun a tad, but this guy seemed fast and well-trained, so Dean didn't make a move, “What else?” The Captain demanded.

“Just before you busted in here,” Dean complained, not sure why he was sharing all this information. But maybe it was because he needed to stall for time, to find a moment where Jack was lulled into safety, and /then/ he could strike, “I found an article on the Brown guy from the 1930’s, like he'd been transported back there.”

“And these are people who'd gone to that house?” Jack pieced together easily, apparently he'd found some things out by himself already. 

“We think so.” Dean confirmed. 

“And the house has a bunch of statues in it, doesn't it?” Jack mumbled quieter, Dean wasn't sure if it was a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway. 

“The Internet sure seems to think so.”

“Well /shit/.” Jack’s posture broke, he put the safety back on his gun, and before worrying about anything else (like Dean, for instance) he snatched his jacket up from where it'd fallen to the floor. He yanked it on and spun around, leaving through the door and strutting down the hallway. 

Dean just sorta stood there a minute, shocked at the turn of events, but when he heard the front door slam he found his pistol and ran through the house to find Jack. He shouted Sam’s name as he went, but he couldn't find the doofus anywhere, nor the roomie. Maybe they'd left? He'd worry about that later. He did call Sam though, as he stumbled down the hallway, and saw the elevator doors shut just before he could get to them, he took a right and began going down the stairwell two steps at a time. 

“Sam, Jack knows something. Where the fuck did you go? I'm tailing him now, call me.” Dean pressed end, and whipped himself over the last section of railing to the ground floor, he shouldered through the doorway and into the lobby. A few college students gave him a weird look, to which he glared in response. He burst threw the front door, searching the parking lot for Jack. The sky was darkening, evening rolling in quickly. There was a chill in the air, and fog filled the corners of buildings and gaps between trees. 

The weather was perfect for October 31st. 

A black BMW squealed a left onto the street and out of the campus parking lot; Dean jumped into the impala to pursue Jack. Harkness clearly knew Dean was following, for he kept speeding up and taking weird turns to try and escape, but in the end it didn't really matter. Dean knew where he was going; to the Williamsburg Estate. 

Jack pulled up in front of the house just as the last rays of sun were disappearing over the hills, he slammed his car door, and scowled at the Winchester, “You should go.”

“I should go?” Dean said in bewilderment, locking his car and walking to stand facing the other man. 

“You don't understand what we're dealing with. It will fuck up your life – leave.”

“Have I got news for you man, my life is already fucked. It can't get much worse dude.”

Jack made a face, growing frustrated, “/No/, I mean these things, they won't kill you. They'll send you back in time, and you'll be stuck there. Forever.”

Dean shrugged, “I've gone back and then come back before.”

The Captain snorted, “I know. I just can't figure out how.”

“How?”

“Yeah. How.”

“I – I have a friend who took me.”

“A friend?” Jack repeated, eyebrows raised. 

“Sort of. It's complicated.”

“How did /they/ do that?”

“Um, errr… They just touched me? And then we were there?”

Jack frowned, “That's impossible. He… You don't know the Doctor?”

“The doctor? No.”

“Was your friend a time agent?”

Dean didn't understand all this terminology, but he was pretty sure Cas wasn't one, “No. He's, he's…” 

“He's what?”

“An angel.”

“An angel?” Jack said, going pale.

“Yeah. No fluffy wings or halo, though.”

“Dean,” Jack interrupted pointing at the house, “I really fucking want to hear about this, I really do, but right now there's some bad shit in that house that we need to take care of.”

“We?”

Jack rolled his eyes, “Yes. We.”

“Well then what the hell is in there?”

“They're called the Weeping Angels.”

Dean gave a blank look, and Harkness game no more information. 

Dean pointed back to the house, trying to stay on track, “We goin in? Kids are gonna start coming around, it's Halloween after all.” 

“This spooky enough, for yuh?” Jack laughed. 

“I think so.”

“Where's Chewy?”

“My brother? I don't know.”

A swooshing sound vibrated the air, a rush of wind passing over the two men, “He’s here,” A grumbly voice announced from behind Dean. 

“Cas?” Dean whipped around, and couldn't help but smile to see the blue-tie-trenchcoated angel. /His/ angel. He ignored his brother, who twisted out of Cas’s grip and over to Jack. Dean came forth, and easily slipped a hand behind Cas’s head to pull him in for a kiss. Their stubbly cheeks brushed against each other, and their breath was warm, and they hadn't seen each other in days which drove Dean mad. 

“/Oh/.” Said Jack in surprise, “This must be your angel ‘friend’.”

Dean pulled away from his boyfriend, but kept a hand on the angel’s elbow, who kept smiling at him fondly, “Jack this is Cas, Cas this is –”

“Captain Jack Harkness,” He intervened, offering a handshake and a wild grin. Cas took it with caution, surveying the man with an almost alarmed look. 

“Your… Your… Soul.” Castiel said in shock, “It's /you/. It's /all/ you.”

“Pardon?”

“People souls are normally a drifting cloud of life inside of them, but yours is your /entire/ being. You are a soul. You're soul cannot leave you.”

“That's more than I've ever been able to figure out.” Jack stated, processing. 

“Can you… Die?”

Jack chuckled, “Oh /god/, I've died so many times I've lost count.”

“Over a hundred?” Dean challenged, even though he hadn't really followed a word of their exchange, thinking the guy was kidding. 

“Easily,” Jack replied darkly. 

“But… How?” Cas wondered in confusion. 

“You got me.” 

The Captain told the new arrivals the same thing he'd told Dean, Castiel had gone silent. He had that /I think I know something really terrible/ face on, which Dean assumed was because of Jack's apparent immortality. Dean wanted to know more about that, but kept quiet since they had a job to do. Sam kept asking Jack questions about his past and other shit, and eventually Dean had to shut the interrogation down and facilitate them into two groups. He wanted to be with Cas, but he didn't trust Sam with Jack so Dean got the weird space-dude on his team in the end. 

“What are the Weeping Angels, anyway?” Sam said as they all four got up onto the porch of the house. 

The windows were all broken, all shattered outwardly like something from /inside/ had done it. It was old, really old, creaking every step with age. The wooden columns in the front were moss covered and softening, the overhang was sure to collapse in the next few years. The door, unsurprisingly, was unlocked, and somehow Jack was in the lead. That made everyone uncomfortable since he clearly knew more about these Angels then he was sharing. The front room they'd all entered was dark save a dim light coming in through two skinny windows. Dean turned on his flashlight, and the other three did the same with theirs. Sam was the last one in, and he left the door open so they could escape more easily and have more vision. 

They seemed to just be standing in a wide corridor, with three sets of doors at the far end. The walls had ugly brown and red wallpaper, which was mostly covered by paintings. Lots of paintings. It was weird though, because some of them had the frames ripped off of them, which made the edges of the art haggard and ruined. There weren't any statutes in here, not a one. And Dean still didn't know what the monsters looked like. 

“Look at this,” Said Cas a few feet ahead, lifting up a blanket to reveal two dozen mirrors, all smashed to bits and hiding beneath the cloth, “And there's the frames from the paintings too.”

“What do they have against these things?” Sam asked, hoping an answer would come, he rounded on the Captain, getting up in his face, “What do they /look/ like.”

Jack snarled, baring his teeth, “Let me just say, you'll know when you see one, and if you do, /don't fucking look away/.”

They all jumped three feet in the air, the front door had slammed shut, casting them into nearly complete darkness besides their flashlights. Good thing Dean always had an extra set of batteries on him. Jack had opened one of the doors, casting a beam of light inside the room, “Got a dining room here, and there's another door across the room, you two take that door,” Jack instructed Cas and Sam, gesturing at the entryway on the left, “C'mon Dean, let's go in here.”

“Wait!” Sam argued, “How do we fight them? Or kill them? We got hexbags and salt in car, do I need some sort of spell or –”

“Listen, Chewy,” Jack began, annoyed, “We /can't/ kill them. It's impossible.”

“Why?” Castiel spoke up.

“You can't kill a stone, idiot. Of course, a stone can't kill you either.”

“What do mean, /stone/?” Dean inquired.

“They're made of rock. They can't move, when they're being watched, they practically stop existing. The moment they are seen by any other living creature they freeze into rock. No choice, it's a fact of their biology. In the sight of any living thing, they literally turn into stone. And you can't fight stone.”

There was silence. 

“So they're /statues/?” Dean said, disbelieving. 

“Only when your looking at them,” Harkness clarified ominously. 

They split up for real then, Dean and Jack going right and Cas and Sam to the left, the older hunter’s stomach was curdling with unease at the situation, and the angel still looked wearier than normal. Harkness lead the way into the dining room, shining his light over a table sporting a moldy tablecloth. Wooden chairs were cast off into corners, and the window was broken. A shiver-inducing breeze seeped in; it was going to rain. 

“So what's our plan exactly?” Dean whispered, irritated at the wishy-washy facts Jack was sharing. 

“Well, before we can do anything, we got to find them.” He shone his torch underneath the table, then straightened up and stepped in front of the window, “They broke the windows so they would accidentally see their own reflection. If they did they'd be trapped.”

“So say we see one,” Dean mused, wrinkling his nose at a mildewed pile of cushions atop a ragged couch, “Can't we just run away? Shut the door behind us? Lock them together in a room?”

“If we see one –” Jack turned to Dean, pointing his flashlight up at his chin to create menacing shadows on his face, “Don't run. Run, and you're dead. Look away, for even a second, and they'll get you. They are fast,” He span around and went halfway through an archway, “Faster than you can believe. Anything you try, won't work.”

Dean exited the dining room, and wandered into some sort of lounge, “Then what do we do?”

“Don't blink.”

The next room was even darker than the first, and the wooden floor creaked at a high volume. The Captain went behind a counter, peering into shelves of empty bottles that had mostly been destroyed. Dean peaked into the closets, angling his torch in there, and keeping his back to the wall. Something moved on the edge of his vision, and he glanced over to the fireplace. The Winchester froze. A seven-foot statue of an Angel stood in the deepest shadows. He swept his light onto it, revealing its feather-carved wings and delicate hands covering it’s eyes. If he hadn't known nothing was there before he would've ignored it – but this /thing/, was unlike any creature he'd seen before. 

Dean was scared. 

“Jack, uh, I think I found one.”

“What?” He straightened, not seeing the Angel at first, “Oh. /Shit/.”

“What do I do?” Dean muttered, eyes already watering from /not blinking/. 

“Just watch it,” Jack said quietly. Moving around the bar and digging through the something outside of Dean’s sight. 

“What are you doing?” Dean said anxiously, his heart-rate accelerating. 

“Give me a minute! Just watch it!”

“I am!” Dean held his flashlight in front of him like a sword, his cheek was twitching from the strain of it all. He shut one eye, keeping the other open. Then he switched. It offered only minimal relief. He could keep this up though, if he had to, for several more minutes. 

“This might work…” Jack mumbled from somewhere. 

“Just hurry the hell up!” Shouted Dean – and amongst his frustration, he'd done the unthinkable; he'd blinked. 

By the time he realised his mistake, it was too late, the statue had moved. Dean gasped, genuinely terrified, a pounding in his ears. The Angel was stretching it’s grey arms over him, the nails long like daggers, and it's mouth was open, showing fangs inches long. If he’d never met the Devil, he'd say this was a stone embodiment of Satan himself. This hadn't been what he was expecting, this was far worse. His eyes were watering, a tear slipping down his face, and he couldn't move an inch for fear of accidentally looking away, “/Jack/!” He said urgently, “I can't –” 

And then the man was shielding him with some form of silver platter. It was stained, dusty, and dirty, but it did the trick. Dean backed away, bending over in relief, his breathing heavy. A loud clanging erupted, and the silver plate flew across the room. The Angel had swiped it out of it’s way. Now it was Jack’s turn for the staring contest. 

“Dean! Look under that sheet! Find something!” The hunter scrambled to the corner, and began sifting through the remaining objects that had rusted over after time. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It had started raining. Sam and Cas shone their flashlights into the greenhouse, they'd just left the kitchen which was connected to here. There were a dozen potted plants and trees, most of which were dead and brown, but vines of many forms flooded the concrete ground and creeped up the glass walls. There were large statues scattered about, which Sam stared at hard before deciding they didn't fit the description he imagined might correlate with a Weeping Angel. Large droplets of water were pounding on the panes, and Sam cursed as it leaked through the shabby, wooden roof onto his head. 

“I believe this was a bad idea,” Cas stated his opinion dryly, examining a marble figure that held a bunch of grapes. 

“Gotta agree with you there, Cas. Do you know anything about these… Creatures?”

The angel shook his head, “Maybe. I don't know. I'd have to see one, I'd have be able to /sense/ it. They sound like an old myth told in Heaven, but I can't possibly know for sure,” Cas motioned towards a garden decoration, “Is that… Some sort of peacock?”

Sam could've laughed, “No, that's supposed to be the backside of a woman bending over.”

“I don't understand, why would that be an appealing addition to a sacred planting area?”

“Humans are weird Cas, never forget that,” Sam moved away, opening a backdoor into the back yard, “C'mon, man, let's check out here.”

He pointed his torch into the bushes, he was already getting his shoulders and hair soaked. There was a stone figure, a tall one, standing behind a leafless tree. It covered its eyes with one wrist, as though hiding its face in shame. Sam went closer, his boots clunking on the stone pathway. A bolt of lightning cut through the sky, and he glanced up in time to see the end of the yellow flash – and when he looked back down, the statue was peering straight at him with a blank expression. 

“That's it.” He told Castiel, who approached carefully behind him, “Do you know what it is?”

“It's an angel.”

“Well I got that, it has wings and it's called a Weeping Angel.”

“No,” Cas corrected, “It's an /angel/. Like me.”

Sam would've turned in shock but he kept watching the stone, “What do you mean?”

“When God created the first round of angels, many more of them were disobedient that /just/ Lucifer. Lucifer was the first, but he certainly wasn't the last,” Castiel cleared his throat, “When Lucifer was cast from Heaven and banished to Hell, many angels wanted to come with him, but God couldn't put more angels in Hell. That would give the Devil much more power than he ever should have the right too. So instead God sent the angels to earth, and he froze their Grace’s inside of them.”

“At the time, it was said that not even he knew the consequences of doing that. He created an entirely new race of angels accidentally, we call them the Lonely Assassins. It's said that their agenda is to get revenge for what my father did to them.”

Sam’s flashlight flickered, and for a brief moment the Angel was out of sight. 

“They know what I am,” Cas said lowly. 

And now the Angel was smiling. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Nothing was usable, literally, /nothing/. All of the reflective things were broken or crusty and there was just nothing. Jack couldn't watch the stone forever. 

“There's nothing here!” Dean yelled over a crack of thunder, the room brightening briefly. And – /oh/. Something had sparkled, something had /reflected the light/, “Wait! Wait. I think… I think I got something.”

Dean got up from his knees and dived around the dining table, going for the window. On the floor in front of it sat a box. A tin box. The outside had chipped paint on it, it was rusted over; Dean prayed as he clicked the lid open, and sighed in relief when he saw it; his own face grimacing back at him. He ran around the table, nearly tripping on a chair and swearing. 

“Okay, okay, I got it!” The hunter said, astonished at how little time had truly passed, he held the tin up between Jack and the monster. The immortal man shut his eyes blissfully, and put a reassuring hand on Dean's arm.

“I got a plan,” He murmured, and out of sight began shoving some tall cabinet or such over. Quickly, he brought up behind Dean a thin shelving unit, “Now – being careful to keep the Angel looking at that, set the box on the shelf.”

Dean did so slowly, watching the Angel just in case it didn't work. He eased the tin onto the shelf, and let go of it. 

“You have to look away otherwise we won't know if it worked,” Harkness complained, yanking on Dean, “C'mon, watch it till we get to the door, then run.”

“I thought you said running wouldn't work.”

“I never said we couldn't try.”

“/Fuck/,” Dean said, and then started backing towards another door. 

“That's right,” The Captain guided him, “It's a stairwell, so that should be fun.”

They'd reached the exit, and with a mighty tug, Dean tore his gaze away, and sprinted up the stairs. Harkness was right behind, slamming the door shut and grinning. 

“Ain't Halloween a pleasure?”

“No.” Dean said, getting to a landing and entering the next room. It was a bedroom. 

A massive window hung on the far wall, it's glass gone, but a shadow of moonlight lay across the floor. A destroyed bed sat nearby it against a wall, and a large wardrobe was on right wall. Resting beside the window, was another Angel, this one looked as though they'd come upon it just as it started to move. It had one foot coming forward, and was pointing a hand at them. It's mouth was closed – no teeth or claws showing. 

“How many /are/ there?” Dean said, letting Jack stare it down as he searched the room for something to use against it. 

The hunter went into the closet, shoving open drawers and dumping out baskets it ribbons and hole-filled shoes. 

“Dean! We've got a bit of a problem here! Get the fuck over here! Now!”

He charged back into the carpeted room, and spotted the pair of gnarled, stone hands gripping the windowsill. /Two/ Angels? They could barely handle one. To make matters worse, Harkness's light was going on and off wildly.

“Are they doing that?” Dean asked, concerned. 

“The pointing one, yeah. We're lucky we got the window. Otherwise we'd be fucked,” The moment he said that, a cloud began drifting over the room. Dean directed his flashlight at the Angel by the wall, and his stomach dropped out of him. His light had gone out without any warning whatsoever. 

And just like that, Jack’s torch was done too. The moon was hidden completely, and their eyes weren't adjusted enough to see anything. Lightning flashed like a message from above, revealing the Angel had pulled itself through the window and was now finding its way to them. The other, had opened its wings, and held them high, making a face that Dean could practically hear a roar coming from. 

“What are we gonna do?” Dean questioned over the thunder.

“Put your back to mine! I have a plan!”

“A plan!? Care to enlighten me!?” A ferocious wind had kicked up, blowing rain inside the room and splattering it all over the two men. They could see vague outlines of the Angels, but only if they squinted. Their eyes were burning, they couldn't do this much longer. 

“Watch them both!” Jack ordered. 

“I can't!” Dean insisted, the two were too far apart from one another for him to keep track of them both. Another bolt of light helped them, and Dean saw both Angels standing within three feet. The room stayed lit, the moon was shining through once more, “Okay. Fine. I got it. Do what you need!” Dean changed his mind.

Jack hunched over and started fiddling with something, working quickly and cursing often. Dean blinked one eye then the other, buying them time, “Hurry!”

“I am!” Jack assured him, spinning around and seeming to bury his head in Dean's chest as he wrapped his arm around him, pulling their sides together. He faced the Angel who came from the window, and Dean took the other. 

“Now what!?”

“Do you trust me?” Jack questioned, hooking their arms into one another's to instead put their backs against each other. 

“Not really,” Dean replied honestly. 

“Too bad, ‘cus you're gonna have to. Now we need to move between them. So we're all in a line with us two in the middle – okay?”

“Okay,” Dean agreed and they took a few sideways steps closer to the window. 

“Okay, good,” Jack approved of their position, “Now…” He pulled his arms lose for a second, did something without looking away from the Angel, and put them back, hugging Dean's firearms tighter, “On the count of five, we need to shut our eyes.”

“What?” Dean said, sure he couldn't have heard correctly, “Do /what/?!”

“Shut your eyes! Trust me! One,” He began counting down, and Dean's thoughts were racing. 

“We’ll die! Or get sent back in time! We can't! /You said/ –”

“Two, three…”

“/Don't blink/!”

“Four –”

Dean gave the Angel arching over him a good, hard, glare.

“/Five/!!!”

And Dean shut his eyes, awaiting whatever fate was to fall on him. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Okay, okay, I need to blink,” Sam said with a panic. 

“It's alright, I've got it Sam. I don't need to blink.”

“You don't?” The Winchester inquired, amused and closing his eyes in relief. 

“That's not true, I do, but as a celestial-being a have a far higher tolerance of pain than you.”

Sam nodded, “So the statue is going to come after you because you're an angel, what can we do to stop it?”

“Like Jack Harkness said, they can't move while being watched. They have survived this long because they have the most perfect defense system ever evolved; they're Quantum Locked.”

Sam raced through a dozen ideas, “Do they know if what's looking at them is alive? Could we… Trick it?”

“What are you suggesting?”

The man nicknamed Chewy started stepping through muddy undergrowth to a statue near the fence, “Take this guy here, and make it look at them. What do you think?”

“I think…” Castiel was close to the Angel, sliding a hand mere centimetres above its surface, “That might work. It seems like they cannot even be seen by each other or else they'll be frozen to rock forever. They cover their eyes not because they're weeping, but because they can't look at one another.”

Sam wrapped his arms around the smooth, marble man and began dragging it over. It became covered in mud just as quickly as the downpour rinsed it off. He stood the man up, facing it’s head the proper direction, it was only five feet tall, but it didn't matter where the Angel was being looked at so long as it was being looked at. 

“Let's go back inside, and then see if it worked,” Sam said, and Cas walked backwards into the greenhouse. From this far away, the smiling Angel was almost a pretty work of art. They blinked, and when their gazes sought the statue again, it hadn't moved an inch. 

It had worked. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Dean reopened his lids slowly, adrenaline and fear pumping through him. Everything was spinning, he felt like he'd gone three rounds in a washing machine. A tight embrace was around him, patting him on the back as he regained his balance and breath. 

“Hey there, /hey there/. It's alright. We're alright. We got away, we trapped them too. We're going to find your brother and your boyfriend now, okay?” Jack soothed the hunter, running a hand over his hair. 

“What –” Dean attempted to hold up himself but failed, his legs buckling, “What /happened/?”

“We teleported. It feels nasty as fuck, but it was our only choice. When we shut our eyes, the Angels came at us from both sides. So, if my plan went to plan, right now those bitches should be gazing longingly at each other for the rest of eternity.”

Dean finally managed to get up properly, grasping Jack’s shoulder for support, “Jack, you're a psycho.”

Harkness smiled, knowing it was an indirect compliment, “Thanks.”

They both took in their surroundings. In front of them, was a small house with shutters, their porch light on inviting kids up to ask for candy. Down the street, a gaggle of girls in dresses and tiaras ran down the sidewalk because of the rain, and they climbed up onto the porch, ringing the doorbell. The girls’ chaperone followed suit, making sure each kid said thank you and took only a single piece of candy. Then they continued to the next house as the father popped open an umbrella. 

“You ready for round two?” Questioned the Captain, unsmiling. 

“Ready as I'll ever be.”

They turned around, and crossed the street to face however many more stone monsters lurked in the corners. Jack said there were at least five, since those people had gotten sent back to five different times. But he also said, that he suspected one of the Angels was broken, or losing and power, and that was how that girl had ended up with egg-salad eyes and rock-limbs – a side effect of an Angels inability to do what they had always done. Once indoors, coats wet and shoes muddied, they took the door on the left to search for the other two. They went through a kitchen, the tile floor covered in a layer of muck, the counters and cabinets in grime. 

“Sam?” Dean called into open doors. Their torches were working again, which was extremely nice. 

“Castiel?” Harkness searched in small room once filled with antique dishware, he smiled devilishly at Dean, “Hey, I'm your type, aren't I?”

“My what?” 

“Your type. I'm just like Cas.”

Dean snorted, “You are nothing like him.”

“Are you sure? Dark hair, long coat, blue eyes, and a little bit immortal? I'd say if you weren't screwing him, you'd do me right now.”

The Captain’s conviction left the other flabbergasted, “Uh, yeah, no.”

“Later, then. Once we were out of here. You'd take your sexual tension towards him and release it all with me.”

Dean frowned, “That sounds disturbing.”

“/Dean/?” Said a voice from another room, “Jack? Is that you two?” Sam opened a door, and in he came with Cas just behind, “You guys alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, we're fine. You?” His brother checked. 

“Good. Right, Cas?”

“Indeed. Sam had a very clever plan to stop the Angel outside. Did you see any of them? How many are there?”

“We found three,” Jack explained how they had thwarted the statues, “Now, I think it's most important we find the Angel that killed that woman. That was a brutal death, much worse than being sent back in time. Though of course,” Harkness went solemn, “It depends who you ask.”

“Where should we look, upstairs?” Sam suggested. 

“I think down here would be more appropriate,” Castiel murmured from a wide, dark opening, “I believe it's in the cellar. I can… Feel it down there.”

“Shouldn't we grab something to fight it with?” The older Winchester said nervously. 

“I told you. We can't –”

“Yeah, yeah we can't fight it!” Dean cut Harkness off, “I get it.”

“That will be unnecessary,” Cas swept a grim look over them all, “If it /is/ hurt, or broken, or dying – I should be able to destroy it.”

Jack spoke fervently, “You can't touch it.”

“I can. Or at least, if it's lost some power I can.”

“And if it's at full-strength?” Dean's voice rising betrayed his concern. 

“Then I could die,” There was a loud /slam/ from down the steps, “It's opened the door for us. It's inviting me in.”

“Cas! You'll know before you do anything stupid if it'll hurt you right?” Dean rushed forward, yanking on Castiel's trenchcoat to make them face each other, “/Right/?”

“I cannot guarantee my safety.” 

Dean felt his face fall, there was no way in hell Cas was letting anything bad happen to himself, “We are all coming down there with you, and you will not fucking lay a /finger/ on that Angel until you are /sure/ you can destroy it, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Dean. I understand,” Cas tore away, and went down the steps as the three other men trailed him. 

The basement had a single candle lit, which in itself was freaky, but the fact that the Weeping Angel was holding the stick in their hand really ramped up the freaky level. The wax was dripping down its fingers, hardening on the cement floor. A thousand wooden crates were littered about, most empty, some containing bottles or books. By the window on the far wall, a thin stream of water poured in from the flood-worthy rain outside. The Angel had their other hand at their chin, a suspicious smile on their mouth. It's wings were broken, the edges of them crumbling and dust covered, the bottom fringe of feathers entirely gone. A Fallen Angel. The foursome stood watching it for what felt like hours, and Cas went closer to it, tilting his head and putting a palm out in front of him. His hand glowed blue, and Dean pictured his eyes doing the same. 

“Well?” The hunter asked. 

“They have lost the ability to send people back in time.”

“That's why it's dying,” Captain Jack Harkness explained, “They feed on time energy. They feed on the years of life these people lose when they are sent back.”

“So that girl, she got teleported away from here… And got turned half to stone as a consequence? But what was with her eyes?” Sam wondered, puzzled. 

“If you look an Angel too long in the eye you become one,” Jack relayed, as if it were no big deal. 

“That would have been important to know /earlier/!” Dean told him, angry. 

The man shrugged, “If you have to look at an Angel that long in the first place you're dead anyway.”

“Well ain't that /reassuring/, ” The Winchester spit. 

While the two argued, Castiel had walked in a circle around the Angel. He stood behind it, eyes focused on the candle in it's hand, “Turn off your flashlights,” He ordered. 

The guys stopped bickering long enough to send the angel an uneasy glance, Dean speaking, “I don't think that's such a good idea, Cas.” 

“Do you trust me?”

Dean didn't respond, but Castiel knew his answer already. /Yes, of course I trust you/ – he would say – /I just don't think you're right. Don't get yourself killed, idiot/. Which was Dean's equivalent to: /I love you so don't think for one fucking second about throwing your life away/. 

One by one, the brothers and the Captain switched off their torches. Cas nodded in thanks at them. No one moved a muscle, they hardly breathed. The only sound was that of the rain and an occasional clap of thunder. The Angel’s fingers were melting, Sam was the first to notice. He pointed its out to the rest, and Cas took care to inspect the clay of the creature's hand. Indeed, it was softening. It could have been from the candle, but Castiel doubted that. He suspected it was from /him/, standing so near, and conducting all these tests. The Angel was trying to escape the locked confines it had been captured in a long time ago. The law of secrecy and hiding it was forced to obey. In a sense, the statue was sweating with the strain of attempting move, and Cas thought that maybe – just maybe – it could break free. 

When it's head began to to turn, Dean swore and Jack was about to flip back on his light. 

“Don't, Jack. Don't scare it,” Cas commanded. 

“Don't scare /it/!?” Dean yelled, bewildered. 

“/Shhhhh/…” Cas muttered, he went in front of it, and it's gaze followed, “My name is Castiel,” He addressed it clearly, “I know that what our father did was unfair, however I can help you.”

A sound like a train’s wheels scraping on the tracks filled the cellar, as high-pitched as nails on a chalkboard. Dean covered his ears, Sam and Harkness doing the same. 

“It's been a long time brotherrr…” Screeched the Angel, “You all abandoned us. You left us here to DIE!” It screamed, rattling the crates, and sending some tumbling about the floor. 

Cas was wincing, but he replied with an even tone, “You were not left to die, you were sent to pay for your sins. You disobeyed our father.”

“We would not bow to those apes! Humans are nothing compared to us! We are ANGELS.”

“You are very ill, my friend,” Cas told the stone gently, “I'm here to simply to deliver the cure.”

“Cas…” Dean said warningly as his angel began bringing a hand to the other’s forehead. 

“It's alright, Dean. They are weak.”

“/You mean to kill me/!?” Hissed the Lonely Assassin. 

“I mean to help you.”

“You lie! You BETRAYER, you put these monkeys before your own kind?! What has Heaven become in our absence!?”

“No better, I assure you. Heaven is as chaotic as it's always been.”

“Our siblings rebel?” It queried like an unoiled wheel, it's lips unmoving as it spoke. It's tone rumbled the room, vibrating the floor and walls. 

“Yes. Many fight against orders.”

“They will make us proud! They will save usss!”

“I don't think so,” Cas said, about to place his fingers to the Angel. It's arm sliced through the air, catching his wrist as it tilted it's head to peer at him. It grinned, baring long teeth, it's nails like knives. 

“You come with me, brother,” It said, and Cas glanced back at Dean. 

The hunter dashed towards him, shouting, and tried to grab onto the angel, but his arms just met open space. The Angels had vanished, “Cas! /Cas/! Goddamn it…” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The brothers and Captain Jack were standing outside of the house. Crows were awakening, squaking and complaining. Halloween decorations added vibrant oranges and deep blacks to the houses on the block, pumpkins grinning at passerby. They'd gone out, fetched some more sturdy items for the Angels to be trapped in, and set them up. The two Jack had teleported them away from, were in fact looking straight at one another, their hands frozen thrashing at the air. Harkness went up to the porch one last time, and called to the Winchesters, “Watch the house! I bet you a million bucks you won't be able to see it in three, two, one!”

Sam’s gaze immediately shifted to the right, and the estate disappeared from his vision, he looked at the house on the left, which was there. He forced his eyes back to the Captain. Jack was standing in front of the fence of the estate, but Sam physically could not focus on the building behind him.

“What did you do?”

“Perception Manipulator. People are gonna walk by the place a billion times and never once lay eyes on the Williamsburg Estate.”

“How long is it going to last?” Sam asked, worried about a long-term solution. 

“In theory, forever. I mean, 51st century tech could've been better, but it wasn't half bad for its time.”

Sam knows better than to ask about Jack's comment. The man came back over to them, and gestured at Sam, “Could I see your phone? I want to give you a number.”

“Sure. Yours?” Sam handed it over. 

“No…” Harkness typed, “An old friend’s. I haven't been able to contact them in years, but you might get lucky.”

“How do you know their number hasn't changed?”

Jack chuckled, “Ha, no no no, this is the oldest number in the universe. It won't ever change, here –” He gave it back. Sam read the name it was under – ‘/The Doctor/’ – it said. Jack's number was in their too, with a winky-face by his name. 

Harkness went over to Dean, who'd been lost in a daze since last night. Castiel still hadn't returned. 

“Dean, he'll come back.”

“You don't know that.”

“Yes,” Jack said, convinced, “I /do/.”

Dean shook his head, rolling his eyes. The Captain sighed, slapped the hunter on the shoulder, and offered Sam a handshake. 

“I know all of us aren't who we said we are, but to be honest that's how I've always had it. You guys seem pretty decent,” He told them sincerely, “Just try to not to start the apocalypse, okay? I'll catch you later.”

“Hey, wait, Jack?” Dean stopped him. 

“Yeah?”

“You – you've been to the future?”

“Yeah.”

“Did we royally fuck anything up?”

Jack smiled, “I don't think you two could affect the whole planet – but no. You don't go down in history as the blokes who screwed over the world,” Dean felt a little better after hearing that. A little. Harkness waved, and opened the door to his sleek black-and-silver BMW. 

“And Dean, remember,” Jack shouted, “/You are not alone/.” He honked, and drove off, the Winchesters watched, and the sun began to rise. The sky streaked gold and an ever-lightening purple colour. Dean got in the impala, Sam riding shotgun. 

“You know what?” Dean remarked thoughtfully. 

“What?” Sam humoured him. 

“It should be stone-paper-sticks, not rock-paper-scissors.”

Sam didn't get it, “Why?”

Dean glanced over, his features grim, “Because I would pick sticks over stones any day of the week. They hurt less.”

Sam cleared his throat, about to offer some comfort or promise or /anything/ to get Dean through what was sure to be a rough next couple of weeks. 

“I think paper is technically softer than either of those items,” A rough voice said from the back seat. 

Dean jerked, and spun his head around, “/Cas/.”

“Hello Dean,” Smiled the blue-tie-trenchcoated angel. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!
> 
> Check out my WIP fic 'Fade to Black', and my one-shot 'Holes Can Be Filled' with Dark Dean.
> 
> Oh, and RIP Mary Winchester ;(
> 
> Follow me on Twitter @funkytownangel or on Instagram @poughkeepsie_angel!


End file.
